


The Valyrian and The Prince

by Rigel99



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 19,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6777292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is the bastard born son of prostitute, raised to become a Kingsguard and Q is a Dornish Prince. What will fate have in store for our two protagonists in such a scenario?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JuJuBee (Marcy09)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marcy09/gifts), [RavenOceana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenOceana/gifts), [DarkJediQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkJediQueen/gifts).



> And so it begins. (Again). I'll do my best to update at least once a week. 
> 
> I've decided to gift the work to three wonderful AO3ers who have been nothing short of lovely and encouraging throughout. Thank you!

The streets were rank with piss and shit. Down here, scavenging with the rats and the cockroaches, far beneath the rooms where sat the Iron Throne and the Red Keep, pestilence was rife and there was no honour amongst thieves. A hooded shadow skirted close to the wall leaving Flea Bottom. It stopped briefly to hush the whimpering bundle held close beneath the frayed cloak, nearly slipping on the wet cobbles. Wet with what only the Gods knew.

The whimpering bundle quieted with gentle cradling before the cloaked, cowled figure carried on its way. The illusion of invisibility however, was short-lived.

“STOP!”

The figure froze in its tracks. A pair of City Watch guards stepped into the dim light cast from the sparsely positioned streetlights.

“Show yourself.”

A hesitant hand carefully drew from inside the cloak to push back the hood, revealing a beautiful young girl. But for the dark circles beneath her eyes and bruised cheek, she could have been born to the privileged.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Monique.”

A soft voice from behind the Guards spoke then. Soft perhaps, but no less commanding.

“It is her.”

He remained in the shadows, a faceless voice, a nameless man. “You have something for us, my dear?”

She instinctively stepped back, clutching the bundle more tightly to her chest when one of the Guards stepped towards her and into her space.

She looked down at the infant in her arms, running her calloused palm through near-white blond hair, smiling softly despite the tears threatening to spill down her pale and hollowed cheeks. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Bright, sapphire blue eyes gazed innocently back.

“It’s better this way, little one. Your mother will always love you.” She quickly handed the bundle to the Guard who tossed her a bag of coins in return. The infant boy instantly began crying. It was a wrench in her heart.

“You are doing the right thing. A brothel is no place to raise a child. He will be well looked after and will want for nothing.Of that you can be assured, my child.”

She nodded once before bowing and throwing her hood over her head and turning away, retreated into the underbelly of Kings Landing, back to where she belonged, leaving behind the son she would never know.


	2. Chapter 2

**10 Years Later, Kings Landing**

“When can I join the Kingsguard and protect by your side, Father?”

Olvey Mansfield paused in his task and placed the dagger he was sharpening on a stone on the table before him and looked up at James, sitting on the seat opposite, sharpening his own blade in the manner which he had been taught to do.

“Very soon, James. Before you know it, you’ll be swinging a blade with the best of them.”

He picked up another sword and resumed his movement, the blade almost singing in response to his touch, each stroke watched closely by the boy and then mirrored in kind. “You have been raised as my own, in the House of Mansfield. And being under the care of the Lord Commander, many will expect great things from you.” He looked him in the eye, a knowing glint in his own. “Ignore them all. Expect great things from yourself alone and the rest will take care of itself.”

James’ dropped his gaze down and mumbled his disquiet.

“Servants will say what they say, James. Low minds will gossip in low ways as is their wont. The fact remains. You are the son of a whore. There is no denying your birth origins. But our lives are not defined by those who walked the path before us. You and you alone are master of your destiny. Your life is your own. Never forget that.”

The boy seemed to brighten at the words. Though never let it be said that Olvey Mansfield was nothing if not balanced in his approach to life. “But you will have to work and work hard for your honour, James. Do not consider for a moment that living under my roof and breaking bread at my table affords your special privileges.”

“To serve in the Kingsguard is the greatest of honours, Father. I do know this completely and without reservation through all that you have taught me and I have been fortunate enough to learn. You have my word I will do nothing but my best to grow the seeds of expectation that you have sown in me.”

“And to ensure you do, you understand that you must always bear the name Bond and not my own? As would a Snow, or a Sand?”

“Yes, Father. For while you have treated me well and as one of your own kin, my name makes me strong. So I never forget the humble beginnings from whence I came.”

Olvey smiled and reached over to place a strong, rough hand on the back of the boy’s neck in a gentle but firm caress, reminding him despite it all, he was loved and welcomed. “You possess a clever mind, a strong heart and a fire in your belly, James Bond. And no one - no one - can take those from you unless you let them.” He rose from his seat, and grabbed the white cloak drapped over the back of the chair behind him, slinging it around his shoulders while gesturing the lad to follow. “Come. We will watch today’s exercises in the yard together.”

“Will there be a test?” James asked, instantly brightening again.

Olvey smiled at the enthusiasm written all over the boy’s features. “If you wish,” he replied. He took him by the shoulder and guided him onto the terrace, the clash of swords against sword, and sword against shield, growing louder as they approached. “You will watch a sparring pair and when one makes a mistake, I will ask you what you think that mistake was.”

“And if I get the answer right?” he asked, eyes sparkling mischievously.

 _Already the negotiator,_ thought Olvey to himself.

“For every answer you give correctly,” he said, “you’ll be awarded an extra five minutes to work on your own swordsmanship before bedtime.”

James gave a satisfied nod before training a pair of bright blue eyes and a keen mind upon the men kicking up sand and wielding their sun shimmering steel as though they were an extension of their own bodies.

He would watch, he would listen, he would learn and he would train.

And one day, he would become the finest Kingsguard that Westeros had ever seen.

* * *

**4 Years Later, Castle of Sunspear, Dorne**

The unmistakeable screams of a woman in the full throes of labour echoed through the upper corridors of Castle Sunspear, drowning the whispers in the surrounding walls that spoke of treason and death.

“We cannot let it live. It could ruin everything. All we have worked to achieve.”

“We can and we will,” came the hissed response broaching no argument. “Don’t you see? We can use the child. It could be a useful bargaining chip with whatever mad fool comes to sit on the Iron Throne in the times to come.”

“It will be the seventh child of seven in royal blood! Who knows what powers it will wield…”

“And when the time comes, we will be there to help the child realise that power. And how best to wield it for the good of Dorne and her people…”

The other voice snorted in disbelief. “I find your optimism in the matter less than reassuring. Overconfidence has always been a weakness of yours, sister. And caused us more trouble than I care to remember.”

She ignored the comment in favour of listening to the quiet that momentarily descended around them, a heartbeat before the sound of a sharp slap and the brief wail of a baby’s cry penetrated the brief silence. The woman smiled as she pushed open the door. They were greeted by the sight of two nurses busying themselves cleaning up the placenta and the bloodied sheets, while another passed the still slime-covered child into his waiting mother’s arms.

“Oh, cousin!” She exclaimed bringing her hand to her mouth, her sister a silent shadow behind closing the door as they entered. “A boy?”

The new mother gave a weak smile in response, and a small nod.

“He’s so beautiful!” she whispered, kneeling down by the bed to offer comfort to the exhausted girl. “Have you decided what his name shall be?”

She gazed down affectionately at the barely opened eyes and the light dusting of raven black hair on the boy’s head, bringing his bloodied brow up to meet her lips.

“Yes.” Her smile spoke volumes of the love and pride bursting from within. “Quentyn. His name, is to be Quentyn.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Kings Landing, Present Day**

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, drenching everything it touched, rendering it a dull, drab and grey. When the sun shone in Kings Landing, the place stood proud and bright, shining like a beacon towards which all of Westeros could gaze and admire with envy and covetousness,pride and hope, in equal measure. Like most things in Kings Landing, dazzling moments like those came at a price.

James strolled with purpose and confidence towards a destination that only he knew, passing the street traders who eyed him with their usual suspicion of strangers. He had foregone wearing his cloak and golden armour to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to his already noticeable appearance. Though he was quite adept at blending into his surroundings, when he found it necessary to make eye contact, the person on the receiving end of that almost blindingly bright blue stare would feel it like a physical touch. Women melted, men betrayed their secrets and children would run for fear of being transformed into a pillar of ice. Sometimes, being the legendary seventh knight of the sworn brotherhood of the elite Kingsguard had its advantages.

He walked up the Street of Silk to Chataya’s brothel and stepped through the entrance as though he owned the place. The heady scent of exotic spices permeated the still air, thick and heavy with a thousand days and nights of sexual conquests. James considered he could slice the atmosphere with his sword. He stood still and glanced around him, taking in the space, the floor beneath his booted feet displaying a mosaic of two women entwined in the act of love. Within seconds of his entrance, two rather naked, rather lovely whores made their own presence felt. James, however, was on a specific mission.

He took one of the girls by the chin in a gentle caress and gave her a seductive look, a look on which he had no intention of making good. She fluttered long eyelashes back. “I’m looking for someone.”

She ran a hand up a strong sword-wielding arm, while her companion pressed her naked flesh against his body enticingly.

“That’s what we are here for. Can I be that someone?” she enquired teasingly.

He smiled. “Another time perhaps.”

“Alec,” he stated simply. She sighed and gestured towards the corridor at the back of the room. “Down there,” she said, with a gentle nudge of her head. “He is with Kayla.”

“Of course he is,” said James. “Who can resist a little contortion to stretch out the kinks of a hard day’s work doing nothing?” he said as he headed in the required direction to retrieve his brother.

The girls reluctantly let him slip away. Danny sighed longingly. “Do you think he will ever yield to our efforts of seduction?”

“Perhaps when Hell freezes over,” her companion replied. “I’ve never known a Kingsguard so devoted to his purpose.”

James soft-footed towards what he knew to be Kayla’s room. He’d hauled Alec out of there often enough. He pushed the door open and leaned against the jamb unnoticed, Alec completely absorbed by the sight of the writhing body above him.

“You are a Goddess, Kayla. Finer and more beautiful than The Maiden herself…,” he murmured. She smiled at the words, well accustomed to the worship of men who found themselves at her mercy.

James chose that moment to break the spell. “The day I find a maiden in Chataya’s, I’ll hang up my white cloak.”

Kayla involuntarily grabbed a sheet as she rolled off Alec, looking thoroughly irritated by the interruption.

“Hello James,” he said, rolling off the fur throw spread across the mattress and reaching for his trousers. “Has anyone ever told you you’re as big a mood killer as a bucket of ice over the balls?”

“Yes. You. Frequently.” James watched him while he dressed.

“Enjoying the view?” Alec queried with an unabashed grin.

“I’ve seen worse,” he replied with a smirk. He pushed himself away from the door while Alec turned to bestow a parting kiss on Kayla’s lips.

“Get a move on, Alec. The Lord Commander has requested our presence.”

Alec stopped short. “He doesn’t know where I am, does he?”

“Of course not. Or if he does, he chooses to ignore your dalliances. You’re of value to the White Cloaks. As long as you remain such, I’m sure our Lord Commander will chose to remain that way.”

Alec shook his head while tossing the hood of his cloak over his head as they exited Chataya’s. “I don’t know how you do it, James. How you don’t succumb to the soft, smooth flesh of those beautiful whores…”

James mirrored the move and dragged his own hood up to conceal his face, making quick pace back in the direction they had come. “Who says I’m not tempted?” he replied. “Perhaps I simply possess the required self control that prevents me from getting my cock out at every available opportunity…”

Alec shook a mocking finger in his direction. “Careful James, or I might have the Lord Commander relegate you to the Rainbow Guard.”

The brotherly banter continued all the way back to their barracks by which time the rain had abated. They made short work of donning their armour and headed to meet their Commander who was, as always at this time in the afternoon, directing exercises in the yard.

He caught sight of them in his peripheral vision, speaking before looking at them as they stopped short beside him and saluted.

“You’re late. Where the bloody hell have you been, Trevelyan?” demanded Olvey Mansfield.

“Gathering intel, Lord Commander. Covertly, of course. The streets of Flea Bottom are a sea of gossip and intrigue.”

“Of course,” he replied, still not looking at the men. “And what valuable intel did you gather? Threats to the King? His family?” he asked, just a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He turned to face the Knights then. A little longer in the tooth than them perhaps, but no less intimidating. If his own record in the Book of Brothers was accurate.

“Or perhaps your interpretation of gathering intel involves something of a more intimate setting.” To their credit, neither James nor Alec batted an eye. Their Lord Commander had trained them better than that and he knew it.

Olvey didn’t press the subject though wasn’t above giving them a subtle reminder of their position, choosing not to single out Alec entirely though he knew James well enough to trust the boy he had raised as his own. “I’m sure I don’t need remind you that while we are in a phase of unprecedented peace throughout the Kingdom, that does not mean we sit back on our pretty little laurels growing soft in the head and around the waist.”

“Only Death relieves us of our sacred trust,” James interjected.

“Indeed. Walk with me both,” he said striding between the space between them towards the steps to his room and away from the clashing of swords. The knights fell into step behind him.

“The Small Council gathered last week to discuss the City’s defences. While we are not under any immediate threat, that does not render potential threats a moot point. In fact, it is in the quiet moments we must be most ready.” He entered his chambers followed by Alec and James. Walking around his desk, he reached for a small scroll of paper.

“We have brokered an agreement with the ruling family in Dorne.” He took his seat and folded his hands on the desk before him. “You are both to travel there and escort back one of their family whom I am told possesses some rather dazzling talents when it comes to developing weapons.”

James spoke first “Forgive me, Lord Commander. But why would the Dornish give us such a valuable body? And a member of the ruling family?”

“Oh, of course it comes at a price and though not for you to question, James, I will answer. Simply put, we have considerably more access to the material and tools required to make these advances. We have agreed to share these progresses with Dorne.”

“Is that wise?” asked Alec. “Arming others in such a manner?”

“We are allies. It is in our best long-term interests to do so,” Olvey replied decisively, laying rest any debate on the matter.

“You will set off at first light tomorrow and escort Quentyn Martell back to Kings Landing,” he replied, handing them their orders. “Dismissed.”


	4. Chapter 4

“A curse on all Gods of the sea, I’m bloody glad that’s over,” muttered Alec, wiping the vomit from his mouth, still unsure where it was coming from since he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

“You’ll live to swing another sword,” said James, who had thoroughly enjoyed the journey, regardless of his brother’s seemingly bottomless pit of nausea. “We’ll rest here for a day before returning to King’s Landing. Maybe you’ll find a nice Dornish girl to rub your stomach better while we’re here.”

Alec gave him a leering smile at the prospect. James rolled his eyes. “Or for sake of reputations you could keep it in your pants. Just this once.”

James looked past Alec towards the dock where two Dornishmen and a woman were standing waiting their arrival. A strong, well-built people perhaps, but in possession of something almost ethereal and delicate.Feathers with a steel spine. How they succeeded in resisting Targaryen and his Dragons was one of the great mysteries of Westeros. Daeron Targaryen had recorded that Dorne had raised 50,000 soldiers to keep his conquest at bay, though many considered that a gross exaggeration of the facts in an attempt to enhance his victory. Where these soldiers were kept in such a dry and inhospitable land of desert sands was beyond him.

The Kingsguards disembarked the boat just as it moored. The woman stepped forward and gave a small bow by way of greeting.

“Welcome to Dorne and Castle Sunspear. The House of Martell is honoured by your presence.”

James doubted that but a peaceful kingdom made for a prosperous one and though sacking a city was considered by the less enlightened as an attractive prospect, James had always maintained the sharing of knowledge to be much more fulfilling. While offence may be the best defence at times, this wasn’t one of those times.

“We are honoured to be your guests,” replied James, placing a hand across his chest and bowing lower.

She gestured he and Alec to walk beside her while her own guard fell back a few steps. “My name is Elain Sand. Quentyn is my half brother. We shall be sorry to lose him albeit only for a brief time, though I understand my father wants nothing but peace and prosperity between our lands and such grand gestures are the most effective way to demonstrate our goodwill where the ruling family in Kings Landing is concerned.”

“I assure you, my lady Elain. It is no small gesture on the part of the Baratheons that they send two of their own Kingsguard to escort your brother. He will be in the safest and surest of hands. I swear it.”

“We are what we do, not what we say we will do, Ser. Do not be fooled by our apparent gentle demeanour. If any ill should befall my brother? Well, let’s just say we overcame Dragons…” she trailed off an unmistakeable fiery glint in her eyes.

James was in no doubt that the words of the Dornish people rang true.

Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.

* * *

James only caught one glimpse of the back of his future charge, walking through the Water Gardens that he and Alec had been invited to explore. He was tall for his fifteen years, dark unruly hair and slender of build. He could glean little more in that fleeting moment, though their guide, his sister, did reiterate mention of the fact that looks could be deceptive.

“He may be young Ser James, but not to be underestimated in any way, shape or form. He will teach your own Maesters a thing or two…” was all she had enigmatically said before returning to recount the history of their home. Alec looked quite bored, but having mentioned earlier that the view was compensation enough, gazing admiringly at the young Princess Elain, James doubted he was too put out by the requirement for a little diplomatic sensibility.

Their first proper encounter occurred on the boat on the return journey to Kings Landing, though wasn’t actually planned.

Quentyn Martell was engaged in a particularly vexing part of an equation that he knew would solve the problem of the Wildfire. The ratios weren’t quite right and the material had to be absolutely stable until deliberately ignited. The pieces were there in front of him. Their correct combination, however was eluding him.

Less than an hour into the trip, there was a knock on his cabin door. He frowned, having told his “keeper” for the evening - Ser Alec - in no uncertain terms he was not to be disturbed short of needing to be dragged off a sinking vessel. He hadn’t met the other knight, but were he as lecherous and openly salacious as his brother-in-arms, Quentyn was wondering if he’d have a fight on his hands.

“Go. Away!” he said loudly in the general direction of the sound. “Busy!”

Again. The knock. Firmer this time. He threw his papers down on the table and stormed the brief distant to the door, flinging it open “I said—“

“Maybe you should be showing some respect for the Kingsguard, boy. You’re not in Dorne anymore,” the looming figure of Ser Alec, pushing passed him. “I’m just checking your room for any unsavoury elements.”

Quentyn folded his arms and gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “To all appearances, there wasn’t any until but a few seconds ago.”

The knight stood silently in his space, dominating the room. He was about to learn the hard way however, that he would not dominate a Dornishman. Boy or no.

He dropped his gaze before looking up at his intruder through long eyelashes, his voice soft and submissive. “You’d like a little taste of a Dornish boy, would you? Like to fuck one and see what all the fuss is about?”

Quentyn backed up to the table in his cabin, seating himself on its edge and lifting one leg to rest a foot on a stool, exposing himself to Alec.

“Come on then, Ser Alec,” he purred. “Want to sheath your sword in some Dornish flesh? Let’s see if you’re made to measure…”

Unable to sleep, James had taken to prowling around the deck of the ship. It was a little early to take his watch over the Martell boy but he thought it no harm to relieve him regardless, making his way down the steps to the sleeping cabins. He heard the curse from behind the door in the same moment it registered that Alec was not where he should be. He crashed into the cabin though the sight with which he was met was not at all what he expected.

Quentyn Martell was sitting on a table, mostly naked, looking cool and collected, but mostly naked nonetheless. Alec was standing between his legs, the boy’s hand around his throat, looking madder than hell itself.

“Ah,” said Quentyn. “The other honourable Ser has seen fit to join us I see.”

James glanced down when the glint of a blade caught his eye. Knowing the insatiable and voracious appetite of Alec, he was under no illusions about what had transpired.

“James!” he hissed. “Get this deadly little Viper off me!”

James took in the scene and what a portrait it made. Evidently, the young Martell was more than capable of looking after himself.

“Actually, I rather think I’d like to see how this plays out,” he said coolly, stepping through the door before closing it, and pulling up a nearby stool to sit with his back to it.

“Please, Prince Quentyn. Don’t let me interrupt. You seem to have the situation in hand,” he said, delighting somewhat sadistically in Alec’s predicament.

The Prince gave him a mildly surprised but wholly pleased glance before returning his attentions to Alec.

“Fucking hell, James. I’m going t—!”

“Now now. Language, Ser Alec. You stupid, fucking bastard,” said Quentyn an all-too-confident smirk on his face, pressing the flat of the blade against his inner thigh, dangerously close to his balls.

“As I was saying, the blade is laced with poison. Slow acting. Painful. All the elements of a righteous death reigned upon someone who thinks he can take advantage of a young and innocent boy of royal descent no less.”

“Yes Alec,” James stated in wholehearted agreement. “What do you say to our young Prince?”

James didn’t think he’d ever heard Alec apologise for anything in his life. This truly was a day of firsts. “Forgive me, Prince Martell. I was… It was conduct unbecoming of a knight of the Kingsguard,” he ground out through barely gritted teeth.

Quentyn frowned as he pushed the man away, Alec all too relieved to be free of his grip and the proximity of his weapon. He reached for his throat while attempting to drag his pants up to his waist. The Prince’s composure was considerably more intact. If James didn’t know Alec as well as he did, he would be ashamed of his behaviour. Right now, he was simply grateful that Quentyn Martell seemed to be handling the situation with an inordinate amount of grace. _Impressive little creature,_ James thought to himself, watching him watch Alec with green-hued hawk eyes.

As he bundled his humiliated brother out of the cabin, he gave Quentyn a respectful bow which was duly returned. Without a word shared between them, mutual trust had been established.

James knew in that moment that the times ahead would be nothing if not very interesting indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

In the weeks that followed, a friendship bloomed. Quentyn Martell had never considered himself one for friends beyond the family he loved dearly and to whom he was fiercely loyal. Yet there was something irrepressible about Ser James Bond. Curious, engaged, interested. Interesting…

“What’s this for, Quentyn?”

Quentyn looked up from the concoction to which he was currently giving his undivided attention to see James fiddling with a dial on a very sensitive piece of equipment he had yet to perfect. He stepped thrice to close the gap between them and playfully slapped his hand away. James had the decency to look marginally chastised. This was a brave new world to him, having never ventured much beyond the wielding of a sword. But he found himself enthralled by the whole thing, the intrigue blatantly obvious in his expression every time he stopped by between training sessions to see the young Dornishman in his workshop.

“That, Ser James,” said Quentyn, “is not a toy.”

“Apologies, Prince Martell. Overstepping my boundaries again.”

“Quite,” he replied with a smile. He tilted his head, gesturing in the direction of another table. “Come here and look at this.” He picked up what looked like a leather gauntlet with straps on the end. James eyed it curiously and when Quentyn turned it over to reveal the modification, he felt his excitement rise.

He held it up between them. “I’ve been working on these with you in mind. Would you care to test them for me?”

“It would be a pleasure, Quentyn,” James replied, rolling up his sleeves to bare his arms.

“Q.”

James lifted his gaze from the weaponised gauntlets to look at the Prince, busying himself with strapping on the piece, slender fingers dancing lightly across his skin. “Excuse me?”

“In our weeks together, you’ve been assigned to watch over me. I must admit, I thought I was going to have a more difficult time adjusting to life at Kings Landing no matter how temporary my sojourn here, especially given the circumstances of our first encounter.”

“Alec is a little overenthusiastic…”

And you’ve made that and most other situations considerably easier to bear.” He played with the straps that connected the digit covers so that James could comfortably flex his fingers.

He stepped back and met James’ eyes, eyes that were watching him with an intensity - as he did most things - that bordered on feeling like a physical touch. Quentyn vaguely wondered if he knew just how beautiful he was. He doubted it.

“And during that time, I’ve come to consider you more than a Kingsguard.”

James didn’t need to hear any more. He simply tilted his head forward in gratitude. “Thank you.” He looked up at him again with that small smile playing on his lips. “Q.”

Q brought his hands together. “So,” he said, in a slightly flustered change of subject, “your next question no doubt is, how the bloody hell do these things work?”

“May I?” asked James, lifting the gauntleted, gloved hand to examine the contraption more closely.

Q leaned back to rest on the table behind him. “Very well. Impress me, Ser James.”

James ran the fingers of his other hand lightly over the leather, across the palm and down the back of the knuckles. Q noted the minuscule change in his features - from quizzical to realisation - when he detected the thin wires embedded in the fabric of the index and little finger. James tested. He flexed his pinky. Nothing happened. He looked thoughtful for a moment before bringing the tips of his index and little finger together, smiling with satisfaction when the blade unsheathed itself from beneath his wrist. He repeated the move and it retracted inside the gauntlet. Q couldn’t conceal his slightly impressed look. “How did you—?”

“It seemed logical,” he said casually. “A completely unnatural move of the hand to trigger the mechanism.” He looked at Q then, returning the admiration in equal measure. “Wouldn’t do if it popped out with nothing more than a flex of the fingers would it. Imagine the mess if you forgot yourself while scratching your arse.”

Q’s laugh was melodic and genuine. “You like it then?”

“Very much.”

“Then it’s yours.”

James looked genuinely surprised. A feat for a man who had been schooled all his life to wear a trained, unreadable expression.

Q didn’t wait for thanks. The look on James’ face was enough. “Now. Shoo, Ser. I have things to be doing,” he said firmly, turning his attention back to his current project. He was so close to perfecting the Wildfire he could feel its flames licking his mind, begging to be unleashed.

Q tensed when James unexpectedly stepped close up behind him, the standard, established physical distance bridged for the briefest of moments. “I shall wear it with pride,” James whispered close to his ear. And before Q could turn to acknowledge the words, James turned away. Q felt the edge of his White Cloak brush against his legs, leaving the young Martell to his equations and work.

* * *

“Having fun, James?” It was the end of the day and James had thrown himself body and soul into his training session. Even The Lord Commander commented on the overzealous eagerness of his best Kingsguard.

James shed his breastplate and slumped down on his cot to pull off his boots, Alec in the cot opposite, polishing his own, watching while James leaned back to lay an aching body on the mattress and closed his eyes. “Babysitting duties taking their toll, are they?” Alec asked, the attempt at the casually-infused innocence in his tone not lost on the man.

He cracked open an eye and managed to look appraising as he spoke. “Someone has to be trusted enough not to try and fuck the merchandise.”

Alec glowered. “More fool you then, James. He’s got a pretty little mouth and no mistake. Shame it’s wasted on words.”

James chose to ignore the incessant libido of his brother in favour of approaching slumber. “He’ll be gone soon enough. Save yourself for having a crack at one of his sisters when they arrive for the farewell banquet, Alec.” He closed his eyes, welcoming the image of the Martell boy floating before his mind’s eye. “He’s too good for you. Too good for anyone…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect updates on Game of Thrones night - GMT. Inspiration seems to breath fire then. :)


	6. Chapter 6

_The sky is burning above him. Water flows beneath his feet. He finds it oddly comforting. Like a familiar blanket or the weighted balance of his favourite sword. His sword… He looks down at his scabbard, at the strange hilt nestled in its home. He grips and pulls. The metal is perfect. Forged by a power long since gone from this world. The hilt moulds to his palm like a second skin. He raises the blade, held horizontal above his head, watches a shaft of burning sky snake its way towards him, fighting the wind that ebbs and flows around him, billowing his White Cloak, its fabric stretching longer and wider with each breath. He feels his breastplate grow suddenly warm, the steel from his sword channeling the flames down his arm and over his body. Still, he is not afraid. His armour melts around him, his cloak crumbles to ashes, scattering to the wind. The water turns to sand. A pocket of wind swirls in front of him, slowly taking the shape of a man. The grains fall away and Prince Quentyn stands before him. Naked as he. He steps forward and places a hand delicately on his chest._

_“I burn for you, and you alone…” James leans forward and the sand creature dissolves before him, leaving a large obsidian egg at his feet. Instinctively, he touches the tip of his sword to the top of the egg. A crack appears. And another… Before fire consumes everything…_

James woke with a start to find Alec hovering over him in the dawn light. “Rise and shine, little bastard,” he said strapping on his armour. He let his gaze trail down James body. “Sorry I had to interrupt what was obviously a very pleasant dream,” he said, eyeing the tenting sheets gracing James’ groin.

“Morning glory is perfectly normal in a healthy, virile male, Alec,” James stated, swinging his legs out of the cot to hit the cool floor beneath. “Walking around all day half hard while thinking about fucking your mother however, less so.”

“Shut the hell up, you little shit,” Alec said, kicking his boots away from him just as just bent down to pick them up. He wasn’t much in the mood for a tussle so didn’t rise to the bait. “What’s on the agenda today?” James asked.

“Our little Maester’s family arrive, remember?” Alec replied. “Tomorrow we say a fond farewell to that teasing little minx of a Dornish boy. Back to getting your kicks from plying those skinny, malnourished Flea Bottom orphans with apples and bread, James,” he said with an unrepentant smirk on his face.

James pulled on his boots silently. He’d save himself for giving Alec a fucking good arse-kicking in the morning’s hand-to-hand combat session.

* * *

James had barely entered the workshop to check on his charge when Quentyn spoke. “I’d like to explore today, if I may, Ser James.”

“Of course, Prince Quentyn. Where would you like to go?”

“I would like to see your Kings Landing?”

James smiled. “My Kings Landing has always been by my Lord Commander’s side and as a member of the Kingsguard.”

“But having lived here all your life I imagine you know the city very well.”

“I do,” replied James. “I am obliged to know all there is to know about the terrain and the people. Knowledge lends us the empowerment to protect.”

“And I’ve never felt in safer hands than with you by my side. So,” said the Prince, reaching for his cloak and sweeping it across his shoulders. He opened the door to his workshop, a cheeky smile playing across boyish features while he held it open for the Knight. “Show me.”

* * *

“It truly is a microcosm of the world.”

“An excellent way to describe the place, Q,” said James, holding up his cup so the maid could refill its flagging contents. “The variety of life that calls Kings Landing home might well rival the multitude of stars in the heavens.”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far,” replied Quentyn, sipping the sweet concoction, grateful to be out of the sticky city heat for a while. “Though it might well rival the number of ideas threatening to seep out of my brain. Some of the things I dream up, I can’t realise because the material simply isn’t available to bring it to life.”

James considered him thoughtfully for a moment. “I must say,” he continued, hoping he wasn’t going to cross some invisible line in their unusual friendship. “I was led to believe that the Dornish people were lovers, not fighters. You seem to break that mould,” James finished, speaking to the liquid in his cup, not making eye contact until he heard Q chuckle.

“Fishing for information about our legendary reputation in the sack, James?” He leaned forward and whispered coquettishly. “How crass for such a noble Knight.” James chuckled.

Q leaned back again and looked around the bustling room. “I have my work. I was born with a body and a brain, but I find the exertion of the latter much more gratifying that the former.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t found the correct tool to properly exert the former…” Q looked penetratingly then at his guardian and companion. James felt himself retreat. “I am sure she is waiting for you somewhere in Dorne.”

“Or he…” murmured Q so quietly James almost missed the admission. He did not pursue the topic. “Perhaps we should get back,” James said, draining his cup and moving to stand.

“Yes,” agreed Q, standing as well. “I have a few preparations to see to before my family arrives.” He stepped round the table and close to James, placing a hand on his chest. The gesture triggered a flood of images from his dream the night before, all too vivid in his mind. “Know that I am truly grateful for all you have done. You have become a good and honourable friend. One I will never forget.” He dropped his gaze to his hand before pulling back. “I hope you consider me in the same cast.”

“I do,” said James quietly. “It has been an honour to watch you work and learn from you, Q. I would change nothing of our time together.”

Suddenly feeling a little bashful under the intense gaze of the knight, Q nodded with a smile and brushed gently past him. “Then let us hope that another time, another place, we will come together again.”

The now familiar touch of James’ hand came to rest on the small of Q’s back as he guided him towards the exit, a liberty he had barely notice creep into their relationship by which time he did, it didn’t seem to matter. “I too share that hope, my Prince.”


	7. Chapter 7

James and Alec marched a step behind Olvey Mansfield, who in turn, shadowed the broad heavy footfall of Robert Baratheon and the light-footed sway of his spouse, Cersei Lannister. Flanked between James and Alec, the bright-eyed Prince strolled between them, all but radiating the eagerness felt at the prospect of seeing his family again after so many months apart. It was only when they came into sight and the yearning for home brought a lump to his throat did he realise what a balm and comfort had been the company and care of Ser James Bond. He glanced briefly towards the Knight, who remained stoic and professional, not registering the look but noting it to himself in his peripheral vision nonetheless. Q smiled. This strange man, sworn to protect his King and for a brief time his own person. A man who had become a friend. A man he hoped would remain a friend, despite the distant between them in place and circumstance.

They greeted the Dornish entourage with the usual grace expected from the ruling family, though all knew Robert would rather be one hundred leagues away hunting boar than suffer the pomp and circumstance of such an ostentatious occasion. “The price of power” His Hand had called it. Robert often wondered if it was worth the effort. His wise and worldly Hand however, had convinced him the benefits of being amenable towards the Dornish. The pre-extravaganza to the banquet would show off the young Prince’s achievement in perfecting the Wildfire. Once word of said power spread through the land and reached the ears of those who would no more than think to usurp the current King on the Iron Throne, the rest of the Houses would fall into line.

“You honour us with your presence,” Cersei Lannister purred, ever the graceful hostess.

“The honour is ours,” Quentyn’s father replied, bowing gracefully towards his hosts. “May I introduce Quentyn’s mother Ellaria and our daughter, Arianne.”

James smiled, feeling the impatience radiating from Q to go to his parents. He briefly felt the hollowness of never having known his own, but it quickly passed and he returned to the present when the familiar timbre of his surrogate father and Lord Commander cut through his brief reverie, rumbling a greeting on being introduced to the visitors.

Ellaria radiated a benevolent smile and opened her arms to welcome her son who eagerly wrapped himself in her embrace. “Mother,” he sighed into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scents of the blooms adorning the Water Gardens this time of year. “How I’ve missed you…”

“And I you, child.” Quentyn glanced over his shoulder. He stepped back and looked affronted. “Mother _please._ You are destroying my credibility!” His father wrapped an arm round his shoulder as the party turned to head towards the banquet hall and viewing gallery. “Let’s see what our little Maester has in store for us!” swaggering between his lover and their son, a brilliantly attractive smile on his sunkist features. “And oh dear,” he whispered, feigning a worried expression while studying Quentyn’s face. “Get you back to Dorne as quickly as possible to get some sun on that skin of yours!”

* * *

The Wildfire display had gone incredibly well. Quentyn Martell had surpassed all expectation in his achievements to enhance the security of the Martell-Baratheon alliance. Drink flowed, food was devoured and entertainment to be had.

Amidst the joviality of the evening, no one, except those with a mind set on power seized through treason, bloodshed and death could have foreseen what was to become the end of an understanding that had lasted over a hundred years.

The Kingsguard stood vigilante in their task of oversight and protection. As the evening drew to a close, Baratheon signalled to the Lord Commander who stepped up to his King. A quiet word and Olvey Mansfield gestured his men to stand in front of the King and his wife, demure as ever. The Kingsguard raised their goblets and toasted their King and Queen who reciprocated the gesture in kind. It was only moments before realisation hit cruel and hard that something was very wrong. James was the first to react to Olvey dropping his goblet and reaching for his throat, catching him around the waist to prevent him buckling to his knees. The King, a much larger, heavier man took a few moments later to follow suit. Confusion broke out when the deathly pallor on the men’s faces took on a sickly, purple hue and Baratheon began coughing up enough blood to drown a small child.

“POISON!” screamed Cersei. “My Lord has been poisoned!” She looked across the table at the Martell family. Quentyn was already moving swiftly towards the prone, twitching body of Olvey Mansfield, lying in the final throes of death in the arms of Ser James. Murderous intent marred Cersei’s beautiful face. “SEIZE THEM!” She barked.

The Kingsguard sprung into action, grabbing the Martells and incapacitating them. Alec stepped in front of Olvey to prevent Quentyn reaching James. “I don’t think so, murderous little Viper,” he hissed, grabbing the boys’ arms and pinning them to his sides. “Ser James!” Q cried, desperately trying to grab his attention though even now it was obvious that the dose was too severe to reverse the effects, even with an available antidote. The horror and confusion on the boy’s face only deepened when he glanced up at his captor to see the treacherous look in his eye. Quentyn struggled but the man was simply too strong to free himself from the iron grasp.

James stroked the head of the man in his arms. He had looked death in the eye many times for his King and his father but it has always been on his own terms. Now he was in a place where he had never found himself since Olvey Mansfield had accepted him into his family.

He was helpless.

All his brothers eyes were on The Lord Commander and his adopted son. Every Kingsguard understood the bond between them, though the Lord Commander had never played favourites, ensuring each man felt the equal weight of respect and responsibility between them. His father was dying and there was nothing he could do. Olvey was looking at James with a deep affection, committing to memory a picture of the son he could take with him to the afterlife. He reached up and pulled him down as though intent to impart a kiss on his cheek. Q watched and saw him whisper something in James’ ear.

Then he went limp, the light of life leaving his eyes.

Cersei wailed treason and murder to any who would listen, her children crying and the rest of court numbed with shock, as Robert Baratheon became another victim of the lust for the power that came with the Iron Throne.

James bowed his head and stood. No tears. Not now. Anger would be his companion. “Bring them,” he growled, a beast ready to rip the throat from any who would question his order.

“James!” Quentyn called, as the Knight turned away to escort the bodies. James turned back then, taking a moment to focus as though the voice had come from afar barely a sound able to penetrate the fog of his brain.

A fog that suddenly turned blood-red when his eyes fell on Quentyn Martell and his family standing close behind him. James marched up to him and grabbed his throat. Q did not struggle, knew it futile to do so. He simply looked James straight in the eye and croaked out with raw honesty. “On the honour of my family and the Dorn—“ James stepped back and struck him hard across the jaw.

“Forgive me if your family’s _honour_ counts for very little in this hall and in this moment, _Prince Martell_.” The words dripped poisonous as venom itself from James’ lips.

“Throw them in the dungeon,” he snapped at Alec. Alec wasted no time in pushing the boy to the ground only to drag him again to his feet by his mop of hair, leading him and the other Martells out of the room. “Let’s see you wriggle your way out of this, little Viper,” he whispered close to his ear, the relish evident in his voice.

Quentyn Martell could only hope then that the Gods were real. He was going to need a miracle to save them from the inevitable wrath about to be rained upon them.


	8. Chapter 8

“Death is the one and only true King that sits upon the Iron Throne until the end of days and there is no escaping Him. It is merely a matter of when He chooses to dispose.”

Hoping for a little space to collect his thoughts after the horror of the night’s events, James had sought solitude on the roof of one of the towers. Lord Varys, however, with his little birds and eyes everywhere was not so easily deterred. If he wanted to find you, find you he would.

Varys took his place beside the silent Knight, looking over the sprawl of the domain before them with a gaze that could level the city were it permitted physical expression. “I don’t care much for Kings Landing you know, Ser James. However… it is the seat of power and power must be carefully observed. It can go to one’s head without one even realising.”

Varys took the silence as permission to continue. He turned his back to lean against the low wall and looked towards the sky, speaking his next words to the expansive dark above. A secret. A betrayal. One of many endured for allies and bestowed upon enemies.

He sighed and spoke as casually as though he were admiring a dress or discussing the weather. “Right now, beneath our feet and within these walls, your… brother, Ser Alec…?” He paused. “…is fucking the Queen. Has been fucking her for some time in fact.” Varys paused again to take in the narrowed suspicious eyes, still fixed on the city beneath them but his face running a gauntlet of its own emotional expression. “What do you make of that?” enquired Varys.

In truth, James was having an inordinate amount of difficulty processing the events of the last few hours. His King was dead, his father and Lord Commander as well… But James had no reason to distrust Varys. He had been a loyal counsel and friend to Olvey. He had, in fact, likely saved James from death when he placed him in the arms of the Kingsguard. Alec fucking Cersei mere hours after the carnage in the Great Hall? It could only mean one thing.

James stood up straight. “I’ll see this for myself,” he growled, anger bubbling and swirling in his mind, walking to step passed Varys. The Eunuch placed a soft hand in the crook of his arm before he departed. “Tread carefully, Ser. There are pieces in play here that will swallow up the pawns as soon as they crush them.” James made to move, but Varys continued to hamper his progress. “Was there something further, my Lord?” he enquired flatly.

Varys reached beneath the fold in his robe and extracted a letter. “Your father entrusted upon me to give this you upon his death.” He handed the letter to James who took it tentatively from him. “Tell me,” said Varys, his tone irritatingly casual and indifferent. “The last words Olvey whispered to you… Obsidian, Silk?”

James snapped his eyes up from the letter, narrowing them questioningly. Varys gave a dismissive wave and a smile. “I think you will find the answers you seek within.”

He turned and retreated back into the darkness from whence he came. “You know, those who seek not power but to empower are the true Kings and Queens of our world,” said Varys. “Like your father for example. Good luck, Ser James,” his parting words, barely acknowledged by the Knight.

* * *

“You did it, my Queen…” Alec whispered moving lips and tongue across her bare stomach, sated and content from their bloodlust.

“ _We_ did it, Alec. The Sand Snakes made good on their promise. Arianne is on her way back to Dorne to her cousins…,” she whispered, still and contemplative beneath him while running fingers through dark golden locks.

“She escapes?” he enquired, looking up at her with bright, adoring eyes.

“She may have had some assistance from a Dornish sympathiser.”

He huffed a small laugh against her thigh. “You think of everything, beautiful creature.”

She grabbed his chin and dragged him up her body, him following her lead without question. “It helps not to be hindered with the burden of a cock between my legs,” she whispered wantonly before seizing his lips in an aggressive kiss.

* * *

“Where is Trevelyn?” James snapped.

The guard shifted his stance ramrod to attention before he answered. “Interrogating that murderous scum, Prince Quentyn, Ser James.” James stepped close to face down the guard before him who had understandably adopted a look of concern. “Opinions have no place in those carved to take orders and obey commands.”

“No Ser! It won’t happen again, Ser,” he replied, voice hovering precariously somewhere between meek and decisive. “See that it doesn’t,” growled James, turning the corner of the corridor leading to the dungeons.

* * *

“Well, well, well, don’t you make a pretty picture and no mistake.” Alec stood in the middle of the cell admiring the sight before him. Prince Quentyn was chained to the wall opposite the door, fresh bruises blossoming on the pale skin of his slender torso. Such minor injuries however, were only the beginning as far as Alec was concerned. Quentyn held his tongue, eyes on Alec as he sauntered towards the boy, Trevelyn grudgingly impressed by the show of defiance on the young Prince’s face. He wasn’t going to allow that stop him from having some fun before he strung him and his parents up in front of a Kings Landing audience baying justice for their murdered Monarch. “You are going to die tomorrow, little Viper,” he said, reaching for his belt, “but first there is the small matter of the fuck you owe me…”

His belt had barely come to rest on the cold, stony floor when James came crashing through the door, pushing aside the guard Alec had posted there. Alec turned and James took mere seconds to read the scene before him. The look of smug, post-coital satisfaction; Alec practically wearing it like a trophy cock on his sleeve. James knew then that Varys had been telling the truth. Not that the strange but compelling keeper of secrets had ever steered him wrong in this life, but seeing Alec - his brother - like this, naked and raw, the truth so well hidden before now unmasked at the prospect of power in his grasp and a Queen to which he could be paramour, James felt the bile rise. He concealed his thoughts with a sly smile.

“Planning to start without me, Alec? That’s just fucking greedy…”

Alec’s look of mild surprise was replaced with a feral grin. “I knew you’d come round to my way of thinking, brother. With the right incentive.”

It took every measure of his self-control to side-step Alec without laying him flat. He stood in front of the chained still-silent boy, his head hung in defeat on seeing the man, his friend, who had lost his father only hours before. “Nothing to say for yourself now, Prince?” James asked, the quietness in his tone tinged with the steely edge of a sword.

“James…” whispered Quentyn, still looking at the ground. He forced himself to meet his gaze. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now…”

“Enough of this bollocks,” huffed Alec. “There’s the matter of some fucking justice to be served to this Dornish bastard.”

Alec moved forward with a mind to unshackle the boy and share the honours with James. “Need a hand?” he said with a leer. James eyes never left Q’s when he replied. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied, flexing his fingers to unsheathe the dagger from the weaponised gauntlet. He swung with precision stroke at Alec’s arm, parting his right hand from his body. Alec’s eyes went wide, the shock stealing sound for a few moments when his eyes met those of James.

“You treacherous piece of shit…” James finished before grabbing his head and bouncing it off the stone wall, landing his once greatest ally and friend in an unconscious heap on the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

_“You understand fire as well as I,” rumbled the darkness before him. “You are not a typical human.”_

_“My name is Prince Quentyn Martell of Dorne. I am the Seventh Son of a Seventh Son,” he said, voice unwavering in the face of the unseen force._

_“And where are your brothers now? They abandon you to your fate?”_

_“Only two still live. The others, dead.”_

_The Prince felt as much as heard the deep inhale. “I do not smell fear in your blood. But fear me you should, boy…” Q could only think it his imagination that the ground beneath him vibrated in response to the timbre of the voice._

_“You speak of fire and blood. In Dorne, our blood is_ fire _.”_

_A rumble of approval was the only response before the disembodied voice stepped out of the shadows and amber eyes came into view. Quentyn could not move even had he wished to do so. He was captivated. His scales were golden, with cream-coloured markings adorning the underside of his neck and tail, his horns and spine white. The wings scarlet with black tints along the bone. The beast screamed of danger and death but Quentyn only stepped closer into the creature’s space without a second thought for his safety. The dragon before him, stuff of myth and legend, was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon. A living, breathing weapon. Weapons were something Quentyn Martell understood._

_And it seemed the magnificent beast before him also understood that all too well._

_“I am Viserion. I am yours to command,” he said tilting his large armoured head while he studied the boy, “but only if you know the command to give…”_

_Quentyn closed his eyes and shut down his conscious mind, opening himself to Viserion’s thoughts. He sensed the tail of the dragon shift and take place behind him, boxing him in. There was only one path for Quentyn Martell then. And it was through the fire._

_“Dracarys,” he whispered and when he opened his own again, he found himself wrapped in strong arms and staring into eyes bluer than the petals of the Winter Rose._

* * *

Quentyn Martell awoke slowly, body coated in a sheen of sweat, to the feel of a cool cloth gliding gently across his stomach, soft cushions propping his thudding head and warm fur spread beneath his body. He released a gentle, ragged groan.

The cloth paused in its movements. “He’s waking, James,” a sultry female voice said softly above him. He opened his eyes to be greeted by the sight of his friend. _Once friend_ , he corrected his thought with a pang  of guilt. He instinctively twisted his body in an effort to sink beneath and disappear into the fur blanket. James gave him a fleeting frown, quickly replaced with understanding. He sat down on the edge of the bed and said soothingly, “Q.”

The sound of his intimate name had the desired effect, the boy visibly relaxing. “You’re safe now.”

A barrage of memories flooded back, reminding Q he should be feeling anything but safe. “Alec… Where are we?" he whispered, tilting his head to look around.

He was staring in confusion at James who had placed a hand on his shoulder. “The banquet…? _Oh God no. “_ My family!” Q strained, struggling to rise only to be rendered flat again by the searing pain across his torso, lack of adrenaline reminding him unforgivingly of his injuries.

“Keep still, Q,” James reiterated, placing a hand on his shoulder in a effort to calm the boy. “Alec will not lay a hand on you while I’m here,” he said darkly. “We are in Chataya’s brothel.” He stood up again and moved to a nearby table to pour the boy a glass of wine, keeping his back to him. “Your family…” he began.

“Would you mind pouring one of those for me as well? I could use a fucking drink. A gallon of the stuff if you have it,” the smooth, clipped tones of Tyrion Lannister interrupted liltingly from the door of the room they occupied. James dropped the cup of wine and reached for his sword, the softness in his features replaced with lightning speed by thunderous anger.

“Fucking Lannister scum!” he snarled, strolling in three strides with intent to harm blinding all rational thought. He drew back when the tip of his blade came into contact with Ros’s chest, stepping between them. “There will be no more bloodshed today, Ser James,” she said sternly.

“Out of my way, Ros,” he growled. “I’d like to find out how many dogs a little Lannister can feed.”

Tyrion stepped around Ros and casually walked over to the wine and helped himself. “Lord Varys asked me to come,” he said before lifting the cup to his lips and downing the liquid in one gulp. James lowered the sword but did not sheath it yet.

Tyrion stepped over to Q who silently watched the exchange, confusion still clear on his face. “Skinny thing aren’t you?” Tyrion said with a smirk.

“What do you want, Lord Tyrion? Because I quite fancy the head of a Lannister and I’m not feeling especially fussed if its yours, seeing as your sister is out of reach right now,” James said, words deceptively calm.

Tyrion turned back and refilled his cup. “And she will remain out of reach, Ser James.”

James was about to speak but Tyrion saved him the trouble. “To get to the point of my visit. Necessary because a Eunuch in a brothel would have set alarm bells ringing all over Kings Landing as to your whereabouts.”

He took a seat a few feet from the bed and James resumed his position on the edge of Q’s mattress. “To go after my sister for the betrayal of the crown and the unfortunate death of your father and Lord Commander would be a fool’s errand, and Varys assures me in no uncertain terms that fool you are not, Ser.”

James and Q remained silent. Dwarf he may be but there was something irritatingly commanding by the charm-infused Tyrion Lannister.

“Varys has arranged safe passage for you and the Prince from Kings Landing in three days time,” Tyrion continued. “We are in charge of the search for you so we can keep those idiots chasing their tails. Three days should be sufficient time for the situation to calm and you both to slip away unnoticed.”

“My family…”

“Your family will not be joining you,” stated Tyrion flatly. He did not need to elaborate for Q to understand his meaning.

“Though you may want to have a word with your sister Arianne who conveniently escaped Lannister justice in the early hours of this morning…”

Q felt his heart twist and the bottom of his gut spiral downwards at the implication of Tyrion’s words.

Tyrion stood, straightening his cloak as he did. He took Ros’ hand and bestowed a light kiss there, looking up at her with a smile. “Thank you, Ros. You are a true friend of the realm.”

Ros smiled in return and then glanced at James. “His mother was a good woman. One must pay one’s debts, must one not?”

The dwarf chuckled at the ironic use of his family motto. “Indeed.” He spared a parting glance back at the men before vacating the room. There were odder places in this world than the home of prostitutes for brutal endings and bloodied beginnings. “Safe travels, gentlemen. Oh and as Varys advised, read your father’s letter, Ser James.”

He strolled down the corridor and into one of the rooms where his regular girl lay naked and splayed on her bed awaiting him. Well, it would be shortsighted to waste the opportunity for a good fuck while he was on the premises. And shortness of sight was one of the few burdens in this life from which Tyrion was blessedly free.


	10. Chapter 10

James sat on the deck, one leg stretched long in front of him, the other bent at the knee, elbow resting on it. In that hand he held the letter, still unopened. He sighed and closed his eyes. He knew what was stopping him. Were he to release those last words into the world, he was admitting Olvey was dead, no longer a part of the life he had for so long cherished.

He opened his eyes to see Q walking to the front of the vessel and lean against the railing, absently staring at the distant horizon. They had agreed to board separately so as not to draw unwanted attention despite their disguises, James a sellsword, Q a merchant. Kings Landing had eyes everywhere and everything had a price. Two renegades on the run from the Lannisters would certainly fetch a pretty price. Q looked over his shoulder to briefly catch his eye but as agreed, made no move to acknowledge their acquaintance until they were safely off the ship at their next destination. He gave him a small, sad smile before resuming his study of the horizon. It had been only four days since their mutual and unfathomable losses, and both man and boy were still processing the emptiness. James continued to watch Q. He had seen his fair share of death, but at fifteen years and to suffer the loss of his parents and the treachery of a sister, he could little imagine the turmoil that was swirling through his mind right now.

James wondered if he should somehow console the boy, but he had no idea where to begin, for though he was not lacking in compassion, that compassion had only ever extended to sparing a man’s life when the situation demanded. Knowing when to swing the sword and when to stay one’s hand.

He looked at the letter again, grabbed the corner and tore it open. This was the time to swing the sword.

 

_James._

_The day Varys placed you in my arms completed me as a man. When my beloved wife died in childbirth, I never hoped to dream I would be given a second chance, that precious gift of being a father._

_I treasured every day with you. But now I am gone and I can only hope that I have inspired you to be honourable, just and fair in all your dealings in life. But you must also - always - remain true to yourself. That is why it is my duty to reveal to you who you are. Your birthright._

_You are so much more than a Kingsguard. You have performed your duty to that position with diligence and in earnest. I could not be prouder than any father of his son. But there is a truth far greater slumbering in your heart, awaiting its time to be woken. That time is now._

_When Varys told me who you were, he did not have to swear me to secrecy. Those who would seek the power of the Iron Throne would not have hesitated to rid the world of you._

_Aerys_ _Targaryen may have been King, but he was also a man, and men make mistakes. Had your existence and identity ever been uncovered, the consequences would surely have been devastating. Robert Baratheon still fears the Targaryen threat to his place on the Throne and has sent assassins to end that threat. Her name is Daenerys and she is your half-sister. You must find her. You must help her._

_All men must die, James. We just hope that we can do something meaningful with our life before we do._

_You gave meaning to my life but now it is time to follow your own path. Be the man you were meant to be._

_Until we meet again, my son._

_Olvey Mansfield_

 

James tipped his head back and began to chuckle. Within seconds the chuckle became a full-blown laugh. Q and a few of the other passengers and crew were staring at him with open curiosity, but James couldn’t help himself. The horror, the loss, the absurdity of it all came crashing in on him.

“Care to share the source of your levity, Ser? I think we could all do with cheering up on this journey,” a merchant sitting nearby drawled. James squinted up at him from his seat on the deck floor and was about to answer when a loud warning cry came from the lookout nest above.

“INCOMING!” James rose quickly and cast his gaze in the direction the lookout was gesturing. Sure enough, a large boat was powering towards them, giant, billowing sails catching every breath and breeze needed to overtake their own smaller ship.

“SALADHOR SAAN!”

 _Wonderful_ , thought James. _All we need. A bunch of bastard pirates to add to the madness._ It couldn’t be a coincidence. Saan was a well-known sellsail who would trade his own mother for a profit. There was no doubt in his mind that someone in Kings Landing had sold them out. Varys had a flock of birds at his beck-and-call but so too did the keepers of the Iron Throne.

Troubles forgotten for more immediate concerns, Q made his way over to James’ side. “Is he dangerous?”

“Bloody right he’s dangerous,” grumbled James, “and there’s no way in this life or the next we can outrun him in this bloody row boat.”

Q frowned but said nothing as he turned away and headed towards the steps leading to the cabins. James could only watch as the pirate ship edged ever closer. Surely within the hour they would reach them and be boarded. He’d have to prime himself for a fight and if he was going to go down, he’d take as many of them with him as he could. He was in the midst of these thoughts when Q reappeared with what looked like a slingshot and glass ball roughly the size of a baby’s head.

“How’s your throwing arm, James?” Q asked while loading the ball into the sling.

“Is that what I think it is?” James asked incredulous, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. Q nodded and handed the sling to him. “Wait until they’re close but not so close that we can be boarded. You don’t even have to hit the deck. The side of the ship will suffice, hard enough to break the glass. It will burn on water. Should be enough to stop them in their tracks.”

“You little fucking genius, Q," James breathed. "To the Gods old and new, I’m glad you’re on my side.” Sure enough, it wasn’t long before they could see the whites of their eyes, greedy and leering, scanning their soon-to-be prized haul. James lifted the sling and swung. Once, twice, thrice revolutions and released. The ball smashed into the hull and ignited, engulfing the front port of the ship. A cheer rose from crew and passengers at the sight. James punched the air and pulled Q into a crushing hug, planting a kiss on his forehead without a second thought. He gazed down at him with something bordering on affection. "We make a hell of a team, don't we lad?" James chuckled, smiling blindingly at the Prince. Quentyn Martell broke into a smile of his own for the first time that week.

He may have lost those dearest to him whom he loved with his very bones, but in that second he realised that at least he wasn’t alone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the memory of everyone’s favourite gentle giant, Hodor.

 

_“Thank you, Ros. For everything.”_

_She tilted her head with a smile, raising her hand to lovingly caress his cheek. “Safe journey, Prince. I know James will take good care of you both." Quentyn smiled and turned towards the door to wait while James extended his own farewell. “One last thing before you leave, James,” she said. Turning away, she walked towards the wall by her vanity mirror. She reached behind and pulled out a long, piece of unassuming brown cloth. Unassuming because what it concealed was far from such._

_“Olvey Mansfield had this forged some years ago, entrusted to me until the time came to bestow to you…” James glimpsed the impressive hilt before the rest of the cloth fell away. He recognised the metal immediately, distinctive because of the rippled pattern in blades forged from it._

_He reached out to the weapon with a reverence comparable to a man meeting his god for the first time. “Such a rare and beautiful thing,” he whispered. “I did not know there was enough Valyrian steel left in the world…"_

_Quentyn stepped back beside James to give the weapon its due admiration. “Only the blacksmiths of Quohor possess the skill to reforge Valyrian steel. Where did the Lord Commander come by such a rare commodity?”_

_“Alas, that secret died with him,” replied Ros. “Though it would not surprise me to learn that Varys had a hand in its procurement.” She looked at James. “Keep it close. Wield it wisely. She is your protector now.” She sat on a chair by the mirror. “And of course, she will need a name.”_

_“A name…” murmured James, running his fingers lightly up the flat side of the blade._

_He caught Quentyn’s eye in the mirror and smiled. “I think I’ll call her Swift.”_

* * *

Arya Stark was alone.

It had been just over a week since the death of King Robert Baratheon and shortly thereafter the ruthless dispatch of His Hand, her father Eddard Stark. Young she may be, but she was quick and intelligent enough to realise that it was Lannister treachery and not House Martell that was to blame for the chaos the night of the banquet. Now, her family were scattered to the winds. No winds in the harsher climes of Winterfell had ever felt crueler than those that blew around the treacherous keeps at Kings Landing. Too insignificant to concern themselves with her immediate whereabouts, Arya had made her escape on a boat heading for the Free Cities. It was not until while scavenging for food in the dim twilight of one of the many marketplaces dotted around Vas Dothrak, she realised she had been walking in the shadow of Ser James Bond and Prince Quentyn Martell.

She was sitting, a small, dirty and inconspicuous shape in the shadows of a dark alley, chewing on a piece of stale bread when, unbeknownst to them both at the time, they had stumbled across each other. Unaware of her presence, she listened while they argued.

“James…”

“No Q,” he said, firmly. “I will not have you put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

Q shrugged off the grip James had laid on his shoulders and folded his arms defiantly, jutting his chin with an air of authority. “May I remind you, _Ser,_ I rank higher than you, a sellsword hired by me for my personal protection…” he trailed off. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Maybe just a little,” James chuckled, easing the tension between them if only for a moment. “You’re quite adorable when you’re defiantly feisty.”

“I am _not_ adorable,” he hissed.

“Q,” said James, placing his hands back on his shoulders. “Men are cruel, opportunistic creatures. Especially in a place like this. Do you really think I can sit by and watch you set yourself up as bait to try and garner information from an unreliable source?”

“If it gets us closer to your sister?” he nodded firmly. “It’s absolutely worth the risk.”

James bowed his head with a resigned sigh. “Fine. But I won’t let anything happen to you and if I feel you’re losing control of the situation, I will step in. In that case, we will likely draw unwanted attention to ourselves so be prepared to make a swift departure.”

“Deal.”

They stepped out of the alleyway, but already deep in discussion about the man they needed to target to shed further light on the whereabouts ofDaenerys, did not notice the small, discreet shadow follow close behind.

* * *

“I have heard wonderful things about your produce. It is truly the envy of many who claim to understand the art of fermentation.”

The wineseller eyed him curiously. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

Q waved his hand dismissively. “Looks can be deceptive, my good man. My youthful appearance does not do justice to the wealth of my experience in this life.”

“Mmmm. If you say so,” the seller supplied, though the air of confidence exuded by the youth was evident. He poured him a goblet of the liquid. “A taste then?” he smiled seductively, proffering the vessel towards the Prince. Q swirled the liquid and spoke before tasting. “Tell me. You yourself are a man of this world, well travelled, knowledgeable,” he said with a flattering smile to accompany the words. “I seek information on the whereabouts of a particular individual.” He took a sip, nodding approvingly.

“And who might this individual be?” enquired the wineseller, pouring himself a draft from another cask before turning back to face Q. “Prince Martell?” the smug, knowing glint reflected in his eye warning Q too late that perhaps he shouldn’t have accepted a drink from a stranger. His vision began to blur as he turned in the direction from which he knew James to be watching, only to see his protector being momentarily distracted by a woman vying for his attention and a man squaring up to him threateningly. That moment however, was long enough for two pairs of arms to scoop him up before the drug took an immediate effect, Q slipping into darkness as quickly as they dragged him bodily into the shadows, while the invisible girl crept silent and stealthy in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fictoid: I decided to call James' sword Swift, after one of the weapons used in 1989 film, Licence to Kill, a sniper rifle disguised as pieces of a cine camera that only responds to Bond's palm print.


	12. Chapter 12

“What are you looking at, Sellsword?”

James had been quietly resting his body against a post while supping a cup of wine, keeping Q in his line of sight. It just so happened that a rather unsavoury-looking idiot and his meek but attractively demure companion passed across that line of sight. The brute obviously had nothing better to occupy his mind than keep an eye out for any potential thieves that might be out to steal his wench’s heart. This was a regular occurrence in the life of James Bond, by now well accustomed to attracting such attention - good and bad.

He diverted his eyes down, hiding his irritation sufficiently, an attempt at submitting and avoiding a scene. He raised his eyes once again to keep them on Quentyn, who was still conversing with the wine merchant. Evidently however, the willingness to avoid a confrontation was not shared by the lumbering fool, who had turned around and stood before him, blocking his view.

“You like my wife?”

“I’m here for a quiet drink. Not looking for trouble.”

“What? Not good enough for you?”

James straightened up and moved to turn away only to throw his fist bodily into the man’s jaw flooring him in one brutally, effective and unexpected move. While the woman tended to her fallen hero, Bond pushed his way through the small gawking crowd, only to discover an empty scene where Q had stood only moments before.

* * *

James reminded himself he was a Kingsguard. He had never once in his life panicked in an unpredictable situation. He steadied his thudding heart and began a methodical search. But Vas Dothrak was a large and sprawling place. Anyone with a mind to melt into the crowds and corners could easily do so. At least, from his vantage point, there were only two ways that Q could have been taken. He flipped a mental coin and calculated his odds. _Fuck it._ He headed in his chosen direction, towards the harbour.

If his assumption was correct and Quentyn had been recognised as a much desired Lannister prize, James reckoned on his captors hauling him onto a boat to return him to Kings Landing. He stood on the docks weighing his options. There were nearly a hundred boats moored along the length of the extensive shoreline. He strolled hurriedly by, taking in each one, choosing to narrow his options and focus on identifying the ones suitable for transporting and stocked with barrels. So focussed on his task, he didn’t hear the soft-padded feet approach before they were immediately behind him. He swung, drawing his sword from its sheath in one fluid move, only to stop himself short. Dropping his eyes to waist height, he took in the face of the young girl before him.

“Arya?” he frowned, momentary confusion furrowing his brow.

“I know where they’ve taken him, Ser James,” Arya whispered. She turned and began jogging lightly in the opposite direction from which James had been heading. She looked over her shoulder, a small, confident smile on her lips. “Follow me.”

* * *

Whatever drug the buggering wineseller had introduced into his system was addling every one of Quentyn’s senses. He was curled up in a rug laying on a wooden floor, the gentle rocking motion as much affecting his body as the drug was swaying his brain. He absently concluded he must be on a boat. Three men were standing near by in the semi-dark of the room beneath the deck, speaking in hushed tones. Q could only pick out random words like “retire,” “lordship,” “Dornish murdering scum,” “bevy of whores…” There was no way this story had a happy ending. His last thought before passing back into darkness was of James Bond.

* * *

 There was no sense of time passed when Q again opened his eyes. He half-expected to see and feel the stone cold floors of the Red Keep dungeons beneath his cheek. What he did not expect was the softness of a pillow beneath his head and the face of a young girl looking curiously down at him, a face he had only seen in passing during his sojourn in Kings Landing.

“Lady Stark?”

It was then James stepped out of the shadows to kneel next to the bed where he lay.

“Really, Quentyn,” he scolded mock sternly. “You must stop making a habit of requiring I haul your skinny arse out of danger.”

Q huffed unapologetically. “I was _trying_ to obtain information on your behalf, James,” he mumbled, still feeling the remnants of the drug floating round inside his head.

Arya decided to make herself useful. “I’ll go bring up some food.”

“Good idea,” said James, handing her some coins. “Enough for three,” he said with a smile. She replied with an enthusiastic nod and left them.

James sat on the edge of the bed and placed the back of his hand against Q’s forehead. Without thinking, he slipped his fingers into those dark, inviting waves. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Q sighed, eyes closed, and shifted his head closer to James’ thigh. He would later blame whatever “truth serum” with which the wineseller had obviously laced his drink.

“You know since the moment I first laid eyes on you, I’ve never quite been able to process how beautiful you are,” he mumbled, almost as though speaking to himself. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. Anything I’ve ever known…”

Q felt a grip on his heart making it difficult to breath. “And for a man who claims to have never indulged in carnal pleasures…”

“I never said that,” James murmured, hand still caressing gently.

Q cracked open an eye then and frowned, half his face still shoved into the pillow. “But you’re a Kingsguard? I’ve never seen—“

“Alec,” he sighed, somehow managing to convey love, hate and betrayal all in one word. The memory of that betrayal was biting his handsome face into such a jagged expression, Q felt he might bleed if he dared touch him in a gesture of comfort. He reached for him regardless. Q couldn’t deny the man was a living, breathing enigma and he himself was unashamedly attracted to puzzles of any nature.

He turned onto his side and entwined the fingers of one hand with that of James’ that was not presently occupied with his hair, and brought them up to his lips. He traced the tip of his tongue along James’ index finger, gauging James’ reaction as he did so. A _very_ welcome one.

“I’ve seen how you look at me sometimes. When you think I’m not looking.”

“Tell me.” James’ voice barely repressing the tone of want from his words. “How do I look at you, Prince Martell?” Q sat up next to him then, barely pausing from the attention given over to James’ hand, while the other hand strayed from Q’s hair down to trace the line of the vein pulsing strong along his neck.

“Imagine this finger is your body - head to toe.” He slipped the digit into his mouth and sucked gently for a few seconds. James responded with a slow flutter closed of his eyelids, a pleased shudder and darkened eyes surfaced when he opened them again. “It feels like that. Like you are devouring me. As though my whole body is trapped in an all-encompassing heat, every nerve singing, yearning for more even though what you give is already too much.”

“More?” whispered James, moving closer to crowd Q’s dwindling personal space.

“More. Yes. Please,” Q replied, leaning into and welcoming the sculpted form and irrepressible heat. Q rested his hands on the Knight’s hips, running thumbs gently over the sensitive hipbones, relishing the fact that he was but one of only two people ever to be permitted exploration of the body of James Bond. James, for his part, was quite content to explore lips, jaw, neck and mouth, a ceaseless, unyielding desire to discover that which he had for so long denied himself, the pleasure of this beautiful, intelligent boy specifically, reciprocal in all his movements, body pressed against him welcoming each inexperienced touch, responding by shifting his slender form to elicit the most pleasurable response. For while Quentyn Martell was not truly experienced in the practicalities of intimate physical encounters, he was still a Dornishman. Such instincts were inherent, part of the very fibre of his being. Curious creature that he was, he had - quietly concealed - watched his father make love many times, cataloging each sensual move and how his partner would react. Quentyn understood the human body as well as he understood any mechanism. Certain buttons pushed exerted certain predetermined responses. Others, were a mystery that were only revealed through careful exploration. An exploration in which he was determined to indulge for as long as he would be permitted to do so.

“You are like a drug, Q. So easy an addiction to which a man could fall prey as taking breath,” both men inhaling one another, as if the air they shared was necessary to keep the other from suffocating…

It was the clatter of plates being put on the floor outside the door that brought them both rudely and forcefully to their senses, pulling apart from each other before Arya entered the room with the promised food.

“Enough for three,” she said smiling, oblivious to the coloured cheeks and the grabbed pillow that Quentyn pulled into his lap. While she busied herself sharing out the food, he met James’ eyes.

Food be damned, Quentyn wondered if there would be anything left when James finally set out to devour _him_.


	13. Chapter 13

_“CLANG CLANG!”_

“You swing that blade like a girl. Such a weakling of a man is unworthy of such a fine weapon.”

_“CLANGCLANGCLANG!”_

“At least I don’t look like a man who’s actually a girl swinging one,” James replied, slightly breathless in his defensive movements. Brienne of Tarth was not a woman so easily swayed by crass words. Less rose than thorn. More stinging scorpion than shrinking violet.

They circled each other, one wielding height and strength, the other agility and speed, to their personal advantage.

It had been a week since Quentyn and James had finally unearthed the information on the whereabouts of his half-sister, Danerys. And while Quentyn had been given no cause to feel anything but safe and protected while in the company of James, he occasionally found himself wondering what would become of him when the estranged Targaryen siblings joined forces. If, as rumours suggested were truth, and the young Khalessi indeed was in possession of three dragon eggs, such a powerful force would have no use for a mere Dornish Prince. He doubted also that she would be best pleased to entertain a Dornishman in her company, given Dorne was the one place that had remained unconquered when Aeon II rained Dragon fire upon Westeros before claiming the Iron Throne.

_“!CLANG!!”_

“Are you practiced with a blade, Prince Martell?” Arya asked, standing alongside him while they observed the exchange of swords.

“Not especially,” came the reply. “I was endowed with other gifts. A thirst or desire for violence not being one.”

“Except when circumstances demand.”

He did like this girl. A lot. Though six years his junior, it hardly showed in her attitude, demeanour and quick wit.

“Exceptional circumstances permitting, yes.”

_“CLANGCLANG!!”_

“Do you think this Targaryen is an exceptional circumstance?” Arya enquired. Quentyn felt his heart quicken briefly, until he realised that Arya was speaking of Danerys, not James.

“I believe she has grounds to challenge her right to the Iron Throne. Unlike those who presently occupy the seat.”

She nodded. “Like Death who steals breath more easily than urchins steal bread. The Lannisters will pay their debt. Though perhaps they will not expect to pay it in blood.”

They noticed then, a distinct silence in the air and looked over to see Brienne looming over a disarmed Kingsguard, the tip of her sword resting gently on his chest. She stepped back and sheathed her blade, satisfied with her victory. She extended her hand to help pull him back onto his feet.

“Where in the Seven Kingdoms does a woman learn to fight like that?” James asked between catching breaths. Olvey Mansfield and Alec Trevelyn being the only two men who had ever bested him in combat, he was unashamedly impressed.

“In a man’s world, Ser,” came her taut reply. James could only smile at that. “Then I fear for all men,” he conceded. “Thank you for the exercise, Lady Brienne. I hope we can repeat the performance in the future.”

“So. I have satisfied your hesitation in placing Lady Arya in my charge?”

“Without a shadow of doubt,” he conceded, with a small tilt of his head in admiration.

They approached their young companions then, and Arya and Quentyn could only watch in silent admiration and give their thanks to the Gods for bestowing upon them warriors with such intent and focus on their personal protection and preservation. A vow made to a mother to seek out and protect her daughters, converging in unexpected welcome with a self-imposed promise by a Kingsguard to ensure complete justice deserved for himself and vindication for the honourable name of his Dornishman. With each day passed spent in the company of James, Quentyn understood with increasing clarity it was his destiny to stand by his side and lend his skills for whatever purpose the Knight would see fit. For every moment he gazed upon him, the sense of inevitability that accompanied James’ aura weighed heavy upon him, thicker than the memory of the losses suffered by both men at the hands of those wanting nothing more than the power that came with subverting others. 

“I will accompany you - without question - wherever you deem your presence needed, Lady Stark,” Brienne stated with conviction, falling to one knee as she spoke the words.

“Braavos. There, I must go,” replied Arya without hesitation.

Brienne slanted her eyes upwards, the question on her lips.

“Trust me as you trusted my mother, Brienne.” Arya’s eyes clear and ripe with conviction gazed upon the armoured protector before her.

“Very well, my Lady.”

Arya gave her a small smile while turning to face the pile of kindling and wood that Ser James had gathered earlier. Kneeling to stack it right for efficient burning, she turned to Quentyn but did not have to ask. Fire was in his blood. He could conjure it with ease and quench it with equal understanding.

James watched. Quentyn’s touch was as that of a magician conjuring an unpredictable force of nature. James felt the flare of want burn in his stomach with the same heat he had felt the night he had burst into the ships’ cabin to see Quentyn squirm, oblivious to his own seductiveness, beneath the unwanted attentions of Alec.

Quentyn stood up and looked around distractedly. “It will be cold tonight. I’ll gather some more wood.” He strolled off purposefully in the fading twilight without meeting though clearly feeling the intense gaze of Ser James upon his back. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” said James absently to Brienne who simply nodded while she made herself comfortable against a smooth rock for a pillow.

He found him a few minutes later, rummaging around a nearby small copse of trees for dry wood. For whilst in the company of Arya Stark, both men had been on their very best behaviour, their stolen glances and ravenous looks exchanged only served to fuel the ambers threatening to ignite between them. James had been all too glad of the distraction provided by Brienne under the circumstances. But with Arya now parting ways with her protector, James did not know how much longer the reign on his desire for the boy could be held. Kingsguard perhaps, but mortal man nonetheless.

“Q…”

James was greeted with an “Ouch! Buggering hell!” and did not resist chuckling to himself at the sight of Q nearly jumping out of his skin and dropping a small armful of sticks. Q rounded on him, more annoyed at himself being caught off-guard than at James himself. He was glaring at him while sucking on a finger. James approached him and laid his hand gently on his wrist. Quentyn yielded his hand. Studying the splinter, which wasn’t too deep, he gently pulled it out. Q hissed at the sting. “You really should be more careful, Prince Martell. These hands are valuable assets,” murmured James. He brought the hand closer to his lips, expression intent. Quentyn tensed in anticipation but James’ grip stayed fast, placing the injured digit on his tongue to ease the sting and stem the slight bleed. “You’re right,” he whispered around the finger. “Your blood does taste like fire.”

Quentyn closed his eyes. Pulse racing, he forced out the words, “James. We— we can’t. Not here. Not now…”

James simply moved closer and left his free hand to trail around the boy’s waist and rest flat on the small of his back, pulling him close against him. His voice, soft, soothing and seductive against his forehead. The kisses were nothing more than the promise they felt with his next words.

“Tempted as I am and tempting as you are, I have no intention of taking you against a tree on the side of a desolate hill, Q.” He released the hand and ran his own through dark waves, surprisingly clean despite several days now without the opportunity provided to wash.

“No. When I first take you, when I make you mine and you make me yours, it will be on fine furs and soft blankets.” His mouth moved down the side of his face and he nuzzled his nose to his ear while his lips hovered above a fluttering pulse point. “We will be so far from the world it will be as though you and I are the last living breathing beings in the Seven Kingdoms…”

He pulled away, gently as he had approached, and gathered up the scattered firewood from around their feet. He straightened up only to find his back pushed against the tree a few feet behind him and the wood scattered to the ground again. The kiss that followed, wanton and ardent, was touched with the enthusiasm of youth and the skill of a student attentive to everything a wise teacher had to offer. Quentyn stepped away from James, straightened his tunic and bent again to retrieve the wood. “I’ll hold you to that and more, Ser James,” he said with a cheeky smile and surprising composure. He may only be approaching manhood but he was determined to demonstrate to James he was more than an equal. Looking suitably satisfied at the mildly dishevelled, bemused expression of the knight, Quentyn made to move back towards their camp. “Come, Ser James. We have the flames of a fire to keep burning.” James pushed himself away from the tree trunk. “I don’t think that will be a problem, Prince Martell,” mumbled James to himself, stepping after him.

It was only a matter of time. Breaking each other was inevitable.

And it would be beautiful.


	14. Chapter 14

The subsequent journey to Qarth had been arduous but thankfully uneventful. Neither Prince nor Valyrian knew what awaited them. Both however, knew enough about the city itself. Its geographical position resulted in a healthy maritime trade with the rest of the kingdom so men of power and wealth who controlled that trade were well established. But so much power in the hands of so few was never a good thing. On the other side of the coin, the Red Waste stretched far and those who travelled to Qarth but failed to meet the approval of the Qartheen more often than not found their very lives hanging in the balance, a word either way saving their souls or dooming them to a slow death in the Garden of Bones.

They sat on their horses outside the large, looming gates of the city. James dismounted with the intention of making their presence known.

“Are you sure this is going to work, James?” Q asked, the concern edging in his voice. He shifted in his saddle and twisted his bound wrists in agitation.

“Trust me, Q. Have I steered us wrong this far?”

Q scoffed at the man smiling up at him. “Indeed you have not. Were I a god-fearing man, I might go as far to say you were in league with some canny demons.”

“Well, I’m in league with a dashing fucker of a Dornishman,” he said lightly, clapping the flat of his palm on the neck of the beast. “Does that count?”

Q rolled his eyes in response. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we? Let’s get in there, get that sister of yours and get out.”

“With pleasure, Q.”

Mustering his reserves of cockiness and confidence, James banged a fist on the small door set in the corner of the gate. A shutter slid back a few moments later and a pair of beady, suspicious eyes glared through the opening.

“What do you want?”

“Would you kindly inform whichever of the Thirteen might be interested, I have apprehended a prize worthy of their attention?”

“Really. I’ll be the judge of that. What is it?”

James gestured to his companion atop the horse. “One Prince Quentyn Martell. Kingslayer of the former Iron Throne occupant, King Robert Baratheon.”

The eyes squinted at Q for several seconds as if weighing up the odds on the truth of James’ words.

He looked back to James. “Wait here, Sellsword,” he muttered gruffly before sliding the opening shut with a slam.

James stepped back towards Q, his back to the gate placing a soothing hand on his ankle, circling his thumb gently along the bottom of his calf.

“Relax, Q.”

“I place every faith in you, James. Given all that is at stake.”

“I’ll be sure not to misplace that faith.”

“The high end high risk part of the game seems to be your comfort zone. Just make sure you put those toys I gave you to good use.”

The wicked ice-blue sparkle of confidence in James’ eyes was answer enough. Q loved him when he was like this. Primed, ready, weaponised. James dropped his hand and turned on hearing the doors bolts shift and the gates slowing gape open.

* * *

“Thank you for respecting our custom and leaving your sword at the gate….?” The question hung at the end of Xaro Xhoan Daxos sentence.

“Bond. James Bond.”

“Ah! A bastard born! I must say you carry yourself well. There is an air of gracefulness about you that I would only attribute to well-born stock.”

“The circumstances of my life were favourable, albeit borne out of misfortune,” replied James smoothly. He walked alongside Xaro towards his residence. A few steps in front of them Quentyn, wrists still bound, flanked by two of Xaro’s servants. James observed the man from his periphery. He could barely take his eyes off the boy. He turned up the charm offensive a notch. He would need Xaro’s trust if he was to successfully connect with his sister.

 _Sister. Danerys Targaryen. Dragon blood._ James could feel his skin prickling in anticipation. All his senses heightened. More aware of the sights and smells of this new place, the feeling of protectiveness coursing through him for Q. 

“It is quite an achievement, to come from nothing and establish your position amongst the Thirteen.” James glanced towards him, a slight tilt to his head suggesting admiration. He could feel Xaro preen in response to the words. Easily seduced by pretty things, thought James to himself. This might be a good deal easier than first considered.

“Our destinations in life are purely of our own design. I merely used what the Gods gave me and stood in the eye of the storm that carried me here,” replied Xaro, smile too broad and eyes overly confident. James mounted the steps to the entrance of his residence, maintaining an unfazed demeanour at the evident opulence and palatial abode. “While we take care of business - a fair trade for a fair trade,” he said, gaze lingering on the boy quiet and calm, climbing the steps in front of them, “it will also be my pleasure to introduce you to another recently arrived guest whom I have obtained the joy of hosting during her sojourn in Qarth.”

He stepped around Quentyn, throwing a seductive smile his way, Quentyn maintaining a demure composure. The boy’s charisma was palpable. James was impressed. Xaro threw open the doors with a flourish. James took in the scene before him, the bright airy entrance hall, the magnificent staircase that swept up to the upper level and the balcony above, a balcony upon which stood a young girl with white gold hair, bright blue eyes and an air of authority and haughtiness than could be mistaken for nothing other than high born.

Xaro immediately caught sight of her too. He leaned back towards James, who was standing immediately behind him. “Beautiful is she not? I will make her mine yet. Her and her dragons…” he murmured softly.

James feigned a smile, never taking his eyes from the girl. For this first time in as long as he could remember he felt something stir within that he didn’t recognise. And why would he? The slumbering dragon inside him, rumbled gentle in recognising one of their own.

And when his own locked with her penetrating, searching gaze, he knew she saw it too.


	15. Chapter 15

_His wings seemed to block the sun from the whole of the valley below. Banking across the sky, skimming the clouds, Q looked down upon the Earth passing swiftly beneath them. Between his trembling thighs, the powerful beast shifted his neck, turning his head to train an amber golden eye on the Prince._

_“You know what must be done…” he rumbled._

_The unspoken promise held in that golden hue made Q’s heart quicken. His chest burst open and he reached inside to pull out the still pulsing organ. He offered it to the mouth of the dragon, who took it gently between his teeth and swallowed it whole._

_“Yours to command, mine to protect…”_

Quentyn startled awake in the dark, momentarily disoriented, until the loud snore from the room next door reminded him where he was. He slowed his breath, the afterimages of his dream burning his mind.

He rubbed his temple and sat up from the bed, wondering what had roused him so abruptly, given Xaro’s snoring had been steady and consistent for some time. Charmed by the knight who had easily gained the trust and admiration of the merchant, at Xaro’s insistence,James had taken a room in his residence, informed he could rest the night before heading onwards with his travels. Q swung his feet to the ground,intending to use the pan underneath the bed to relieve himself, the shackles around his ankles jangling in the quiet room.

“Psssttt…” sounded from the dark. Q nearly dropped the pan but caught it before it clattered on the floor.

“Fucking hell!”

“Sorry…”

“You bloody well will be, James,” grumbled Q to the dark, finishing up his ablutions and stowing the pan. James stepped over to him and revealed a key, bending to undo the shackles.

“Where did you—?”

“I have my methods,” whispered James with a sly smile.

“Don’t I know it,” smiled Q, placing the shackles on the bed. “You spoke with your sister? In the garden before our meal?”

“I did.” He took Q’s hands and pulled him up into an embrace. “We take the eggs and hide them. Without them, Xaro will hopefully lose interest in taking Danerys as his own.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Q whispered against his ear.

“If he doesn’t then we take matters a step further. I have been too long without family.” He kissed Q then, just once, gently on a warm cheek. “I have no intention of losing the ones I have just found.”

The men moved soundlessly along the corridor, towards the room where James knew Danerys to be sleeping. James pushed open the door, only to be greeted by an empty bed and the eggs gone. The sheets were in disarray, suggesting a struggle. James stood momentarily confused but Q moved quickly to lay his hand flat on the sheets. “Still warm,” he murmured. “She can’t be gone far.”

* * *

Pyat Pree moved like a ghost. His companion had the limp body of one Danerys Targaryen resting light over his shoulder while Pyat had the eggs stowed in the canvas sack slung across his back. Unfortunately for him, however, the unforeseen presence of Ser James and Quentyn Martell was about to destroy his well-laid plans. They walked through Xaro’s garden and had just made it to the rear gate entrance. They were stopped abruptly by the appearance of a dagger vibrating in the frame of the gate, close to Pree’s head.

The wide-eyed Warlock turned around to face the manifestation of this “inconvenience.” “You have no idea with whom you are dealing,” his voice low and rasped.

Danerys was slowly coming to her senses.

“Oh no. I think it is you who are mistaken on that assumption,” rumbled James dangerously.

By now, most of the household and Danerys companions had been awakened by the unsettled atmosphere. Quentyn was watching the Warlock with unabashed suspicion. He was well aware of the reputation of the keepers of the House of the Undying and the man was displaying such an overconfident demeanour, Quentyn was awaiting some magical ruse to descend upon them and transform them into dust.

“Put her down,” growled James, his sister now struggling against the binds that wrapped firm around her ankles and wrists. Surprisingly, Pree gave a curt nod to his associate who placed her feet gently on terra firma, only to push her bodily and forcefully towards the men, turning in the same move to make his escape. James moved swiftly forward and caught hold of the stumbling girl before she hit the ground while Q reached behind his own back and pulled a glass ball from his belt. Pree had his hands splayed high above his head, conjuring the air around him to dark mist but before he managed to complete his vanishing act, Q threw the ball forcefully at the Warlock's feet. The word from his dream sprang clear in his mind and fell unbidden from his lips, “Dracarys!” while James and Danerys stared in wonder at the blue-green-gold flames licking up the body of her attempted kidnapper, seemingly unable to move, rooted to the spot from where the flames had sprung. The bushes next to Pree burst into flames but went no further, contained to the space occupied by the body engulfed in Q's Wildfire. Pree fell to his knees but did not scream. Danerys, hands and feet now free, felt herself inexorably drawn into the fire. She took James’ hand and the look in her eyes as they meet his spoke of trust and truth. Destinies now intertwined.

He followed her, the pull of the flames strong and irresistible. They faced each other, standing on the ashes of Pyat Pree, while the fire danced around them, the eggs at their feet. James wrapped his arms protectively around Danerys and in that moment, three loud cracks permeated the air.

And as the flames died, the Targaryens stood in that circle of scorched earth - naked, unblemished and unburnt - while three small creatures clambered enthusiastically up and down their legs and backs, imprinting on their mother. The gathered servants and companions slowly dropped to their knees before the birth of power to which they had borne witness. Even Quentyn, humbled beyond comprehension by the scene before him, dropped his head in supplication. Until…

…He felt a gentle hand placed beneath his jaw to tip his head up and back. The look of affection and love on James’ face stopped his heart for the briefest of moments. His next words held all the promise from the man, now reborn as Dragon by this boy’s hand, for which Quentyn Martell had long since ached.

“I am going to spend the remainder of my days showing you, my Prince, what it means to be worshipped by a Dragon.” And if that vow didn’t take Quentyn’s breath away, the kiss that followed certainly did.


	16. Chapter 16

“KHALESSI! PLEA——!” _SLAM!_

Jorah Mormont turned to Danerys. “You have done the right thing, Khalessi. Xaro had nothing to offer you but lies and deception. We will find another way to raise the army you need to take your rightful place on the Iron Throne.”

Danerys stared at the now sealed door of Xaro’s empty vault. Well, empty but for the merchant and her traitorous handmaiden. She nodded, knowing her most trusted advisor to be correct.

They turned away from the vault and headed back in the direction of the main area of his residence - Danerys’ residence now. For as long as required.

“What would you like to do now?” asked Jorah. “Have you discussed your immediate future with your brother?” Danerys stepped out onto the balcony into the fading light of a golden evening, overlooking the garden and the scorched patch of ground beneath them. Her three Dragons skipped and hopped along the balcony railing close by.“It’s a brave new world is it not, Jorah?” she said softly. The bear merely smiled.

“You need time, a spell to adjust to the idea of having family again. But my instinct tells me he is an honourable man and a far cry from your brother Viserys.”

“I agree,” she replied. “He also chooses his allies well. Prince Martell…”

“His understanding of fire will undoubtedly prove useful in the times to come. Are you aware, Khalessi that Dorne was the only region to stand successful against the might of your father and his army?”

“I did not know…” she replied contemplatively.

“Indeed. The answer as to how, might will be right before our eyes…” he said, glancing away from her into the garden below, just as James and Quentyn appeared walking close side by side in each other’s space. “Or rather, right before your brother’s eyes,” he said with a sly smile.

* * *

“James.”

“Q.”

“If I may make an observation?”

“I can hardly deny you of all people now can I, my Prince…” he chuckled.

“You look so… at peace.”

James turned his head and those bright blue attentive eyes towards his companion, though neither man faltered in the mutual rhythm they had found in each other’s movements through so much time in each other’s company. If a look could burn, Q’s body would have combusted like one of his Wildfire orbs. “It seems I’ve discovered my centre. Or rather, the person I needed to centre me. Reveal to me my place in this world.”

It was not long before they found themselves outside Q’s room. James permitted his gaze to linger long, open and - there it was again - ravenous, on the boy. “I made you a promise and man of my word that I am, I intend to honour it. Involving fine furs and soft blankets, if memory serves me right…”

“About bloody time, Sellsword,” Q said with a deep breath and a seductive smile.

James couldn’t stop the delighted laugh that rose from his chest. “That mouth of yours. The delicious cheek of it simply begs to be put in its place.”

His look turned soft but serious. James took Q’s hand and placed it on his chest. “Yours to command…” he then placed his own hand over Q’s heart. “Mine to protect.” James’ gaze trailed down his face, drinking in the soft blush colouring pale cheeks and the lines of a strong, slim neck. His hand took a similar path down the slender torso to snare his slim waist in a large, warm hand. Pulling him close, Q’s fingers rested light and still on his chest. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Why now?” whispered Q. “That night, shortly after we departed Vas Dothrak, in the river while I washed, I wanted you then. I invited you. Almost begged…”

“You weren’t ready. _We_ weren’t ready,” interrupted James.

“Before this day, I was undeserving of your love,” continued James, moving closer still, backing him into the room and kicking the door shut behind them. “As Ser James Bond, Kingsguard, I was blinded to the truth by loyalty instilled in my bones,blind to the traitors in our midst who took my Lord Commander from me and your family from you.” Q didn’t resist while James stripped him with weapons grade efficiency from his clothing. Q was naked before they reached the bed.

James removed his own, distracting Q with soft, sultry words of affection and admiration. “But now, reborn by your mastery, I find myself deserving of you. Worthy of your bravery, your brilliance, your beauty. I want it all,” he said, surging forward to steal a kiss deep enough to completely fog normal impulses coursing through Q’s brain, making him tremble with the same thrill he felt when he perfected a new weapon, the first time Wildfire burned on water, the first time James had looked at him with open desire, “but it is only yours to give.”

“Take it. It’s yours. I’m yours,” Q breathed sure and unhesitating, lacing long fingers to the back of James’ neck and dragging him down on top of him, bodies pressed together in an intimate tangle that made it difficult to tell where the Maester began and his Dragonblood ended.

James’ skin was surprisingly cool, offset against the burn searing through Q’s body. Pressed between the delicious friction of James’ body above him and the bearskin caressing his back, Q realised he had waited so long to feel the uninhibited, raw strength of James’ embrace. So long that neither man nor boy would have long to experience the release of that pent up desire so diligently contained while in the presence of his Knight, his protector, and now, his Dragon. James rolled onto his back, relinquishing control of their congress to Q.

“Show me,” he growled. “Command as I protect.” Q didn’t hesitate. Conjuring up his youthful experiences in Dorne, he sat up on James’ thighs wrapping both his hands and long slender fingers around them both. And a Maester’s hands were something forged by storms and unworldly elements, tender but unyielding, confident in his moves but completely attentive to the responses of the newborn beneath his body.

Hot. Hard. Fast. Everything coalesced in their synchronised movements, mutual pleasure crested on the wings of the Dragon beneath the young Maester’s hands. Eyes locked. Hips moulded together, they broke each other, shattered by the sheer pleasure of finally, _finally_ knowing the pure intimacy of each other's embrace.

And it was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to call time on this one for the moment, though I may indulge in another arc in future. Hope you all enjoyed this little AU. :)


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I THOUGHT I’d drawn a line under this story arc, but seeing as the GoT grand finale airs this weekend, I’m appending a little more 00Q in honour of a momentous Season 6.

Quentyn Martell had never felt so safe. Wrapped in the Dragon’s warm embrace, he marvelled at the softness of the scaly chest pressed against his back. The beast’s breath drifted over and around his neck and down the front of his naked form, trapped in the narrow space between Q’s body and the large wing surrounding him. The beast stirred sensing the boy hovering between wakefulness and his dreamscape…

“Q…”

“Mmmm…” he murmured, unwilling to yet drag himself from the cocoon of protection in which he was enveloped. He could not however, ignore the press of nuzzling nose and lips against the part of his neck exposed, nor the deep insistent rumble from the body wrapped around him.

“Open your eyes. We have company…”

He cracked one eye gently open then, and was greeted by the sight of small lizard-like creature, not 2 feet away from him on the bed, amber stare eying him with open curiosity. Q startled but was almost immediately soothed by the hand flexing against his stomach and halting any sudden movements. Watching the scene with equal interest, James’ sister, Danerys, stood in the entrance of the room, protective in her body language but distant nonetheless. The little Dragon - donning the same colours of the beast that frequently visited him in his dreams, he noted - took a tentative step forward. James took Q’s hand in his own and turned it, palm up, in front of the creature. Q simply stared in silent fascination.

Danerys spoke then, softly, not to disturb the scene. “His name is Viserion. And I think he’s taken a liking to you…”

“Viserion,” whispered the Prince, his hand held fast by James’ beneath it. The Dragon hopped onto the open palm and stretched tentatively forward to rub his rough tiny snout either side of Q’s nose. Q could help the delighted little yelp that escaped him, causing the barely born infant to scurry back to his mother, crawling up her back and peeping shyly over her shoulder at the men in the bed.

James smiled at his sister before looking back at Q then. “Yes. I think he has…” he whispered against his ear, both men becoming distinctly aware of the welcome interest growing from James and making its presence felt in the small of Quentyn’s back. The boy couldn’t help but flush.

Danerys tossed them a knowing look with her own smile before turning away to leave them alone. “Food will be waiting,” she said. “We’ll speak later.”

As the door shut, James took hold of Q’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back, climbing above him and kissing him with the conviction of a man intent on achieving nothing short of the full-blown surrender of his conquest.

Q was breathless long before he broke the embrace to trail soft lips down a writhing body.

“I think I’m going to enjoy being worshipped by the Dragon…” he whispered.


End file.
